


Take a Chance (Come Back To Me)

by dawnstonedagger



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Battle Couple, Dalish Courtship, Dragon Age: Inquisition Multiplayer, F/M, Fluff, Getting Back Together, Implied/Referenced Sex, Light Angst, Matchmaker Josephine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-01-29 22:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12640158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstonedagger/pseuds/dawnstonedagger
Summary: Neither Cillian nor Ellana thought that they would see each other, again, after their last parting at the Arlathvhen. Fate conspired otherwise.





	Take a Chance (Come Back To Me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KestrelShrike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KestrelShrike/gifts).



> Cillian is the Dalish Arcane Warrior from the Dragon Age: Inquisition Multiplayer, for those who might not be familiar with him. He can often be seen on the battlements outside Cullen's office with the other Multiplayer characters. :)

Cillian had only meant to take a short turn around the battlements, to stretch his legs, and get away from the cramped confines of Skyhold’s Mage Tower. He should have known she’d be down there, working in the lush castle garden, her pretty blonde locks twisted back on top of her head like a crown.

Ellana Lavellan, the Herald of Andraste and leader of the Inquisition, did a good deal of her own gardening.

He wanted to leap down, stand face to face with her again, and ask her about everything. About the years since he’d last seen her, about the Breach; of her mark and whether it pained her; if her clan still roamed the Free Marches or had headed west. Whether she ever thought of him at night in the quiet moments, before slipping into the Fade.

He’d looked for advice from his usual sources. The more Ancient Elvhen texts Cillian translated, however, the more he came to realize that the ancients’ primary means of resolving personal issues was to sleep it off.

Fight with one’s brother? Rest and reconsider in the Fade.

A spell wasn’t coming together quite right? Take a long nap.

Hopelessly in love with someone currently out of reach? Such a shame. It couldn’t hurt to doze, until the sharp edge of the feeling dulled to nothing.

Not the worst advice he’d ever heard, but unhelpful in this instance. Hours of peaceful meditation, which often did the trick, did nothing to make him feel calm and collected. All that it took to unravel him was catching a glimpse of her from the battlements, like today.

Instantly, he’d recall what her mouth tasted like—the sour beer they’d shared, the smoke from the roaring bonfire near the center of the celebration, how her hands twined his hair.

Five years hadn’t tarnished his memories of that particular day, hour, moment, a whit. What happened at the gathering of the clans, at the Arlathvhen, stayed at the Arlathvhen, as the saying went.

If she had wanted, he would have joined clan Lavellan for Ellana, whether they required more mages or not. Or he would have taken her into his own.

It occurred to him that his clan’s First, Neria, would laugh until she coughed, if she got wind of his… continued fancy, for someone who’d deserted him so many years ago. His meager rank as a specialist magi in the Inquisition army, did not present him with many opportunities for an audience with the Inquisitor.

“Are you all right, Cillian?”

Rion approached, his stave hanging lazily at his shoulder. Shorn-headed, with a face like a blunt axe, the human carried in each hand what looked and smelled like some of the meat pies from the main dining hall. When leaving the mage’s tower earlier, he’d offered to bring Cillian something to eat, as he’d be passing that way.

With another pair of eyes on him, Cillian became painfully aware that he’d been watching Ellana, much longer than was strictly polite.

“Well enough. I miss my garden. It’s calming to watch something grow that you had a hand in.” The garden she’d planted below grew tall, in red and green and violet and lyrium blue, with rare and magical specimens from all over Ferelden and Orlais; she tended them with great care, assisted by her herbalist, who oversaw the garden while she travelled.

“Maybe. Though here you get a nice view of the Inquisitor’s lovely arse, too,” Rion snickered.

Cillian glanced over at his friend, grinning perhaps a little menacingly. “I imagine if she thought us ogling, we’d both get a dagger between the brows,” he said.

“Ah, moving on, then.” Rion turned on his heel, and hurried towards the heavy door to the tower.

“Let us do that.”

He gave one last glance back at her, shears in hand, dirt coating her arms up to the elbows. She dropped what looked like a large cutting of royal elfroot into a waiting basket, and started on the next plant.

He hadn’t collected the courage, yet, but perhaps the next time he saw her, he’d ask if she wanted help.

 

* * *

 

Still damp from bathing, and wearing the ridiculously expensive dressing gown some minor noble had given her last week, Ellana flopped down on her overstuffed couch. She sprawled over the cushions next to where Josephine already sat working, and started rebraiding her hair. She’d been in the garden all afternoon, and gotten quite filthy.

As usual, her advisor scribbled in the detailed agenda she planned for her each day and week, without missing a stroke.

“I saw him again, Josephine. I know I should just give up on it.” Ellanna sighed again. Cillian was hard to miss, strolling up on the battlements. His shock of long white hair made him look much older than he was, and he often wore his beautiful set of shining ironwood armor, which he’d gotten Creators knew where.

“On what, Your Worship?” Josephine's expression shifted from calm to concerned.

Ellana scrunched her nose, and pouted. It didn’t matter that she’d closed the Breach. It didn’t matter that she’d stopped the Orlesian Civil War. It didn’t matter that she’d stopped the Grey Wardens from destroying themselves. Having any expectation of a love life was hopeless, now that she’d been made Inquisitor.

“Romance. I’m completely doomed to be alone,” she said, even knowing that she was spoiled for choices.

Everyone around her was either too young, too old, or not her type. She did not mind offering her friends and companions the occasional flirt, but she’d always seen herself bonding to one of her own people, and there were not many Dalish men in the Inquisition.

And if she wanted to be completely honest, she already had chosen.

What must he think of her now, though, with all of this power, of her new title? Even if he agreed with the Inquisition’s purpose, Cillian might call her a flat-ear for involving herself in shemlen politics. Did becoming their leader count as submitting to them? She wasn’t sure if she could, or even wanted to answer that question.

“Don’t say that. Tell me, how does courtship amongst the Dalish usually proceed?” Josephine asked, setting her work aside. She smoothed her ruffled skirts and invited Ellana to sit closer, patting the velvet cushion.

At once, Ellana scooted over and, sighing, folded her callused hands in her lap. Josephine’s open, friendly expression had become a familiar comfort. “Well, inside our clan, if you can handle a blade or bow, you kill a bear or a wolf and present its carcass to the person who has your interest. If you don’t hunt, handicrafts like bows or blankets can be offered if you have the skill. My father was a weaver, my mother a herbalist; they both proved their worth to the clan and each other, and are very happy together.”

“It isn’t arranged for you, then?”

“No we choose our own partners. Though I suppose it might vary from clan to clan. Perhaps you’re thinking of alienage elves.” Ellana appreciated that Josephine tried to learn as much as she could about her people. It was far more than she’d come to expect from most of the others.

“I must be conflating traditions, I apologize. It is common among the Antivan nobility, though often strictly political,” Josephine chuckled. “So when did you meet?”

“For several years I was a _shem’shiralas_ for Clan Lavellan—a messenger of sorts, though working directly for the Keepers. I traveled from clan to clan delivering news and small items when needed. One day, on a trip to relay something to Clan Ralaferin, I met a man named Cillian. He was training with Keeper Elindra, and we, well... we came to know each other intimately, after a few such visits.”

Josephine clapped her hands together, delighted. “How romantic! Then what happened?”

Ellana cleared her throat, sad to disappoint Josephine’s glimmer-eyed gaze. “At the last Arlathvhen, he asked me if I wanted to pledge a bond with him. I realized that I wasn’t ready to settle down, and said I hoped he’d wait. When I visited his Keeper again, a few months later, he’d left Clan Ralaferin to go seek lost magic.”

“Fascinating. What do you think he thought to find?”

“I’m not a mage, so I’m not sure. We all seek to reclaim our heritage, but we also have to live. Whatever he sought, it tore him away from important responsibilities toward Clan Ralaferin, at least to hear his clanmate Neria tell it. She wasn’t too happy with me, I think, despite her feelings. They were rivals for many years.”

“That’s right, those two don’t get along.”

Ellana chuckled as she nodded. “They were both candidates for First, when he left. I thought Neria should have been happy to see him go, as competition to become the Keeper’s First is very aggressive. Perhaps the circumstance involved made it seem like less of a victory.”

“Ah. Perhaps he thought she would do a better job, as he felt divided in his passions.”

“Maybe. Neria is very traditional. I expect she’ll be calling my Keeper a flat-ear once she gets wind of what happened at Wycome. I haven’t caught her calling me that to my face. Yet.”

Josephine shook her head in disapproval. “But there is so much benefit to be had from our people working together!”

“Tell that to a circle of Keepers and warleaders glaring at you like you just invited the Dread Wolf to dinner. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go to an Arlathvhen again. It’s just as well.” Going back to the life she’d enjoyed before the Conclave seemed like a far off dream.

“Surely they would not reject you. You aren’t just the Inquisitor, you are a wonderful woman, too. I am certain if you came bearing certain gifts, they would open their arms as if you had never left.”

Ellana sat up abruptly, frowning irritably at her advisor. “You think you can buy them all off? I hope you like arrows in your ass,” she said.

“I cannot say I do, Your Worship. But it cannot hurt to make certain overtures of friendship. You have gathered much knowledge which is relevant to your people, Ellana, and have come into great personal wealth. They would be fools to deny you.”

“They aren’t fools. We—my people have to be careful. But that’s neither here nor there. I’m still not sure how to even talk to him. I didn’t know he’d even joined!”

“Your options are still open, my Lady. Let me see if I can... perhaps, arrange a meeting for you,” Josephine said, leaning forward. Her smile made Ellana certain she had come up with an elaborate plan, which she couldn’t wait to implement on the Inquisitor’s behalf.

“This sounds dubious. I know you mean well, Josephine, but sometimes it’s just not meant to be.”

“Oh no, no, no. You have helped me in ways which I can never repay, and if there is any kindness, any favor I could bestow upon you, I would. I have worked with Cillian since his arrival. He is, as you say, a calming presence. Perhaps he could accompany you under the guise of—”

“I don’t want an escort, I want a partner.”

“All in good time. You say it has been several years, yes? Perhaps the two of you could travel to the elven temple he helped you to locate. On the road, there would be plenty of opportunity to rekindle your affection,” Josephine added, patting her knee affectionately.

Not a terrible idea. Provided none of them got injured or killed, of course.

“It would be dangerous, but he might be interested in what secrets might hide there. I’m certainly curious. It couldn’t hurt to ask him.” With Josephine cheering her on, it didn’t seem quite as impossible, now.

“I could not agree more,” Josephine said, and dipped her pen in the inkwell. “Shall I make some changes to your schedule?”

“Yes, push back the Oasis expedition, this shouldn’t take long. Send Dorian, Bull, and Sera ahead; I can make my way there afterward. For the temple, hmmm, Solas will probably want to see it, and Varric and Blackwall get along with him, so I’ll bring them, too. Send notice to Morris for provisions and mounts, and, of course, to Cillian that I’d like him to come. Try not to embellish the invitation too much.”

“Of course not, Inquisitor.” Josephine hid her smile behind her hand, but could not conceal her chuckle.

 

* * *

 

Reading the slip of parchment for the fourth time, Cillian couldn’t quite believe it. He‘d been put on the outgoing roster, for a mission assisting the Inquisitor. Incredibly kind of her to request him, after the work he’d put into finding the place. More importantly, she remembered him fondly—very fondly.

The missive itself implied as much:

_It was with great joy I recently learned you joined the Inquisition, and of your help in locating the Temple of Dirthamen. Your skill and enthusiasm are both very admirable, and I look forward to seeing you put them to use. I would enjoy exploring the site with someone who will appreciate its meaning..._

“Sweet Sylaise!”

“What’s that, Cillian?” Rion flipped to another page in the copy of _Electrical Spells For Practical Living_ , which he’d been perusing most of the morning.

“El—the Inquisitor wants me to join in on her next foray. She’s going back to that temple we found.” It took weeks of traveling from clan to clan, trying to decipher the coded directions, but ultimately they tracked down the ruins, hidden deep in the wilderness of northeastern Orlais, a few miles from the coast.

“Aww, you get to get in on the loot. That’s lucky.”

“We’re not going there to loot, _falon_. Dirthamen’s sphere is secrets, not gold,” Cillian admonished. Admittedly, his people had once been prone to coating every available surface in gold leaf, but little evidence of their glory days remained intact.

Rion laughed at him, and slapped the table. “Sure you’re not. Her Worship always seems to come back with a chest full of gold and pelts and shiny rocks, though. Just imagine, you could buy yourself a nice new staff, and hang up that old stick you’ve been using.”

Cillian ignored the insult to his more than adequate staff, which he’d received from his Keeper before he left to wander. “If there is anything left to find, in a place that has existed since before my people fell, it will be well-protected. I have little concern that anything we bring back would not be a hard-earned reward.”

“Better you than me. Places like that are always full of demons and magical traps,” said Rion, and flipped another page.

“Perhaps, but I am pleased to be able to help.” He had not spent the last several years of his life studying his people’s lost martial arts so he could sit quietly and let his accomplishments molder like old leaves.

“Heh, good on you. Maybe if you impress her, the Inquisitor will help you out, too. If you know what I mean.” Rion waggled his eyebrows at him and laughed.

“I prefer it when we help each other, to tell the truth,” he said.

“Wait, what?”

“She wasn’t always the Inquisitor, Rion.” Cillian smiled over at him, slyly, and then got up to go pack his gear.

 

* * *

 

Ellana scowled at the backs of their heads in disbelief. After an otherwise peaceful day and afternoon of riding, she’d started to feel the distinct stirrings of an emotion remarkably close to jealousy.

Her first mistake was bringing Solas on this outing. He’d requested to come, though, and she thought he could help decipher any elvish writing they discovered at the temple. Now, her Fade expert’s pleasant voice prattled on, deep in conversation with Cillian—who seemed completely enraptured by the other mage’s insights on certain elven magical techniques.

No doubt their discussion would be quite fascinating, if she could make heads or tails of anything they were saying. As it stood, she could scarcely interject.

Worse, every time she so much as glanced in Cillian’s direction, he appeared to be studying some far-off object. Other than a cursory and polite greeting this morning when they’d set out, they’d scarcely spoken.

Behind the two mages, Varric and Blackwall were going on and on about jousting, again. Left out of both conversations, Ellana could feel her eyes glazing over, and her temper growing short.

Fortunately for her, it looked like they were closing in on the temple. The sight of the familiar Inquisition banner staked on the outskirts of a very large, partly collapsed elven ruin, made her sigh in relief.

“Ahead, I think that’s it. I didn’t expect it to be so big,” she said, immediately regretting her choice of words when Varric and Blackwall started snickering behind her.

“Yes, laugh it up, gentlemen. You two get to go in first,” she said, pulling her reins back for the hart to slow and then stop.

“Yeah, but where? I don’t see a door,” Varric said, reining in his horse beside her.

It seemed like Solas was about to speak, but Cillian chimed in first. “In ancient times, my people often used magic for passage in ways which are no longer understood, but not every door was magical. I’ve explored several places like this; most likely it’s hidden.”

“Let’s start looking then, the sun’s already low,” Ellana said, catching his eye for the first time on their journey. It made her heart jump more than she thought it would, and she couldn’t help the blush that rose to her face. Cillian looked startled, too, and then turned his head quickly so his expression was hidden by the curtain of his long white hair. Hoping the others didn’t notice her discomposure, she quickly dismounted and stood beside her hart. She bit her lip in frustration, for she doubted they’d ever have the privacy she wanted to talk.

“Why would they make the front door so hard to find?” Ellana grumbled. They’d done a full circle around the structure, through the difficult and overgrown terrain, and were starting a second.

“The priests likely guarded many secrets," Solas said. "Here—perhaps we will learn more of the purpose of this place, inside.” He poked what looked like a large vine-covered rock with the bladed butt of his staff. With the illusion disrupted, she could see behind the leafy tendrils, ancient stone stairs leading down into darkness.

“Shall we?” Ellana asked.

“I believe you have already appointed those among us who will lead,” he said, smirking as he nodded towards Varric and Blackwall.

“How nice of you to remember, Chuckles,” Varric said, adjusting a knob on Bianca. Other than kicking a few fern fronds irritably as he passed, the dwarf protested no further. He and Blackwall barreled down the shadowy temple stairwell.

“Someone has to,” Solas muttered, and followed the other two men, the gem on his staff lighting the dank ruin.

This left her alone with Cillian.

“My lady,” he said, with a calm smile. He held out his staff in front of them to let flames dance on the end, and act as a torch. Ellana smiled back, though she knew she didn’t feel half as serene as she tried to appear, as they went down.

Her first impression of the interior of Dirthamen’s lost temple was that it looked as if it had been partially sunken. Ellana couldn’t determine whether that was on purpose, or caused by the passage of time. Water seeped in all around, and the walls and floors were seething with strange plants and funguses. She could almost feel the ancient magic radiating off the wetly glistening stones; the strange combined bitter smell of rotted vegetation, bones so old they’d become powder, and water that held traces of lyrium and sulphur, made it particularly eerie.

“I—Creators, Cillian, stay close.” It wasn’t precisely that she feared the dark. Places with such great age to them made her uncomfortable; old elven ruins in particular were notorious for containing strange and deadly defenses. She resented the others for having run ahead, even though she knew they meant to clear passage for her.

“I will, Inquisitor.”

All was quiet, but for the splash of falling water, and their wading feet, until they reached a branching corridor, guarded by a large statue of Fen’Harel. Then they heard the telltale rattle of a corpse rising.

Out of the muck covering the bottom of the half-flooded tunnels, the remains of some long dead man or woman sloughed together. A bow solidified out of nothing in its hand, and it began firing green, glowing spirit arrows at them.

Cillian tugged the golden sword hilt off of his belt, and the magical blade to his weapon flashed into existence. He briefly disappeared, reappearing a few feet in front of her, having sliced the skeletal creature attacking them, in half.

She didn’t have time to comment, for another appeared in the first one’s wake.

Daggers drawn, she leapt into the fray, swamp water soaking her up to the knees of her breeches. Further down the ink-dark hall, she could hear the ringing of Blackwall’s blade and Solas and Varric arguing over who needed to go back to cover her.

It didn’t matter. She and Cillian made short work of the rotted, unnatural things as quickly as they appeared.

“I see you’ve learned quite a bit, since our last parting,” she said, as he dispelled his sword.

“Knowledge, yes, though my practical experience was sorely lacking, until I joined your Inquisition, Your Worship.”

She scowled up at him. “Stop calling me that. You know my name, Cillian.”

“I— Ellana,” he said awkwardly, and then gave a sigh of relief.

“Yes.” She grinned at him, triumphant, then startled, when his eyes flicked away almost immediately, widening at something she could not see.

“It’s an _era’harel_!” he said, casting a barrier over them both. It took her a moment to remember what those words meant, in common—a demon mage, an arcane horror.

On guard, she twisted away from him, turning on her heel down into a crouch, daggers drawn. Ellana faded into the shadows as his magic blazed. Of course a place like this would be filled with the possessed remains of ancient mages, too.

The waves of magic the creature drew to it looked green and twisted, exploding out from it in spiraling blasts. Like a typical living mage, it kept its distance to be most effective, and the hallway they were in was so narrow, the creature could cover the entire range.

Sneaking behind it would be difficult.

Cillian did not hesitate to blast it with fire, setting its tattered robe ablaze. The creature only seemed to attack whatever was right in front of it, so once she managed to get to its side it seemed not to see her. Now, she just had to get close, clinging to what few shadows remained in a hall lit by fire and magic.

“Cover me, Cillian!” she shouted, and dove into the cloud of darkness beneath the horror. She could see the light from his attack, as she jumped onto the creature’s back, before it could twirl away. Magical flames licked at the air, but couldn’t touch her, protected as she was by Cillian’s strong barrier magic.

Ellana buried her two magical daggers deep, cutting through layers of ruined cloth and mummified skin, into the pride demon beneath. It howled and screeched, trying to fling her off, but with her legs around its waist for leverage, she withdrew her blades and quickly stabbed again on each side of its neck. The arcane horror began to collapse under her, and she backflipped off of it, landing on her feet with a great splash.

“Well done, _lethallan_ ,” Cillian said, casting a final spell as he approached her. It washed the area around them with a bright light and then dissipated.

From listening to Solas and Dorian, Ellana was fairly certain the spell had something to do with cleansing the mana in the vicinity, to keep more demons from being drawn near. Hopefully, it would keep the dead in their sad, wet graves.

“You didn’t do too bad yourself. Nice sword,” she said, awkwardly, though he didn’t seem troubled.

“ _Ma serranas_. Shall we catch up?”

“One thing, first,” she said, moving closer to him, until they were standing face to face. His eyes widened as she stood on tiptoe, one hand on his armored shoulder.

Despite the butterflies in her stomach making her quiver, she pressed her lips to his lightly.

“I’m sorry,” she said, as she pulled away. “Can we try again—from where we left off?”

“Aye, I’d like that,” he said, tentatively putting his hands on her shoulders, leaning forward enough that their foreheads touched. By the glow of his stave, she could see the detailed filigree inside the lines of June’s vallaslin etched on his skin, for the first time in a long time.

“I didn’t choose any of this. I did what needed to be done, and next thing I knew, they appointed me Inquisitor.”

“I know, that’s why I’m part of this. I couldn’t sit by and watch the world end, either.”

She smiled, for the first time glad she’d decided to come here with him.

“Good. Now let’s go find out what secrets Dirthamen has left us.”

 

* * *

 

Despite the many challenges of dealing with people of varying cultures and backgrounds, the ceaseless fighting, the hazards of travel, Cillian decided that joining the Inquisition had been a very good choice.

True, recent developments might have been coloring his perspective to a far rosier tint.

He couldn’t bring himself to mind, particularly, since Ellana had invited him up to her chambers the moment they’d arrived back at Skyhold. It was a pleasant way to round out a rather dark and violent reunion.

Dirthamen’s temple had held many useful artifacts and texts. He’d have much to share among the clans, once the Inquisition had catalogued and copied it for their own records. What they’d do with it, he didn’t know.

He couldn’t think about that, not now. Not while cozy and comfortable with her in her bed. Ellana lay sprawled over his right side, exactly like she used to do when she stayed the night at camp with his clan.

Back then, she’d often leave before first light, when he’d yet to wake. Not this time; she seemed content. Perhaps what she’d been through made her consider things differently. He’d have to draw it out of her, but all in good time. For now he’d hold her close, and try not to worry too much about the terrifying situation that got them both here.

His reverie didn’t last. He heard the door to her quarters squeaking open, below, followed by shod feet on the stairs, approaching rapidly. He recognized their guest as Ellana’s ambassador, by her ruffled gown and the writing board she seemed to carry everywhere.

Before Cillian could move, Ellana sat up sharply, wide awake, pushing out of his embrace.

“ _Fenedhis_!” She pulled the covers up over them both, flailing around for her shift. “I forgot to tell her I’d have company.”

Pulling her back to him, chuckling, he tried to arrange himself with a little more dignity. “Don’t worry so much,” he said, but she still looked mortified.

“Good morning, Your Worship. I’m sure you will be pleased to hear that—” Josephine looked up from her writing board, finally, her eyes going round with surprise. “Inquisitor! I—I’m so sorry, I should have—but, oh! Cillian!”

He didn’t particularly want to pretend he wasn’t there. “Good morning to you, as well,” he said.

The ambassador smiled, more color rising in her cheeks, as if she couldn’t help herself from looking at them. “Ah, I will return later. Let me send up breakfast for you both,” she said.

Ellana nodded. “An excellent idea. Cancel everything until midday. I will be otherwise indisposed.”

The ambassador drew a quick “X” over something on her writing board.

“As you wish, Your Worship. Shall I begin preparations for a traditional Dalish wedding?” Josephine asked, her eyes twinkling, clearly delighted at the prospect.

Ellana grabbed one of the large feather pillows from the bed, and flung it across the room at her. “Out!” she cried.

Dodging the pillow with little difficulty, Josephine giggled and let it flump on the ground near her feet. Then she bowed, and scurried back down the stairs where her tittering laugh echoed up.

“I hope you don’t mind. They never leave me alone when I’m in the castle,” Ellana sighed.

“I don’t mind. Though I expect we won’t be here often enough for them to trouble us. Where shall we go next, do you think?” Ellana never stayed still for long, never had. If he wanted to be with her, he’d have to go, too.

Her smile widened, bright and mischievous. She pushed him back onto the remaining pillow, and looped her leg around his hips. “Hmmm, well, since you asked, _ma lath_ —how do you feel about the desert?”


End file.
